


The Fear of Death, and Other Things

by certaintiescertainly



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintiescertainly/pseuds/certaintiescertainly
Summary: "If there is one thing that is true no matter what, it’s that Damien is passionate."





	The Fear of Death, and Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for me, and for friends. PWP.
> 
> Just something light, that I may add to, we shall see.

If there is one thing that is true no matter what, it’s that Damien is passionate.

 

Okay. Okay, so. This is not the situation I was expecting, when my boyfriend gave me That Look over a glass of wine. A third glass. Fourth?

 

We might have gotten a little carried away.

 

We might be continuing to do so.

 

Heeeere’s, the thing? The thing is that Damien is really, really  _ intense _ , even drunk. Especially drunk?

 

And, oh, god, I’m pretty sure he intends to kiss every square  _ inch _ of me before we even get anywhere. I knew, or suspected, that foreplay would be heavy, as someone who  _ courted _ me (gave me flowers, that he  _ grew _ !) would like to take things deliberately slow, relish them. 

 

And, look, I’m not...in  _ bad _ shape, exactly, but I do eat pizza and ice cream with Amanda maybe more often than I should, and I have only occasionally let Craig drag me out on runs, and.

 

I might be a little self-conscious. There’s definitely a Dad Bod happening here, and Damien is...really, somehow, not that, and…

 

And when he gets to the soft of my stomach, I can’t help but squirm, a little. But he looks up, and there’s this, this, oh god, that  _ look _ is incredible, like the one before with the wine but closer, eyes darker, and, and--

 

I lose my train of thought. Again. If I had one in the first place. 

 

I don’t remember what I was worried about until he nips me, just above my navel, light, all lips, no teeth, but, god???

 

What did I do to earn this?

 

I can’t have earned that look. Not  _ me _ , some has-been who still wears his hair like he’s in a ska band and they’re gonna make it big any day now, who still maintains a brow piercing like it gives me street cred, or something, when it probably just looks stupid--

 

Oh--fuck--that was  _ teeth _ , scraping right up against my hipbone, and I have to clap my hand over my mouth to remind myself to keep it down. Isn’t Lucien home, and sleeping somewhere? Or is he going to be home? Something like that? Should we even be doing this right now???

 

Anxiety and terrible self-esteem are warring with outright lust and holy shit Damien is determined to have lust win, who even makes kissing someone’s knee that  _ sensual _ , it’s illegal, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.

 

Damien laughs, and, uh, I said that out loud. Oh no. I’m really not. Sober. And I’m naked in my boyfriend’s bed saying stupid things and all I get in return is more of that  _ look _ . 

 

Damien hasn’t even taken his fucking cravat or whatever it is off. It is a cravat, right? I’m pretty sure it is. The cloak is gone, at least, but there’s definitely an imbalance here, and, I’m, not actually sure I want to correct it? Is that a kink? Do I have a kink for  _ cravats _ now?

 

What the hell is my life?

 

He doesn’t seem inclined to take anything off, actually, and oh god oh god oh god he’s moving on to certain  _ places _ and what the fuck how is he so good what is that thing he’s doing with his tongue--

 

My brain is white noise for a second, but I’m pretty sure I moan, and I’m pretty sure it’s too loud, because Damien pulls away and chides me, lightly, with a soft, “A little quieter, dear,” and kisses the inside of my thigh, which, isn’t helping matters, fuck you--

 

He laughs again. Oops, that was aloud, too. I stumble over the start of an apology, and he holds up one elegant hand to wave me off. How is he still so coordinated? Much less graceful? That just isn’t  _ fair _ . 

 

I close my mouth and could swear there was an audible snap. Yep, grace is totally my middle name, alright. Good thing I’m not being asked to do anything except sit back and watch as  _ ohhhhh god _ , he just took half of it in one go, all smooth and everything, are we like, being filmed? Have I accidentally replaced an actor? He’s so  _ good _ at this!

 

Well, he’s also just. He also just. Gets under my skin. I might be biased. Still.  _ Still. _

 

He starts moving, and I’m pretty sure my eyes would roll right out of my head if they could, because oh my god, has it just been a long time? Is that why I’m so affected? Or is it because it’s  _ Damien _ , going down on me, fully clothed and with eyes that glint with mischief and outright desire as he glances up? I probably look stupid. I can feel a flush creeping up my face and it’s probably spreading down my neck, but whatever he sees (somehow) pleases him, and he keeps eye contact as he pulls off (oh god, a breather) and replaces his mouth with a tight hand (oh god why). 

 

He clearly has Plans, and that scares and delights me, but...mostly I’m still feeling kind of inadequate, if uncomfortably aroused. Something must show on my face, because his softens, and he crawls up the length of me to kiss me. His lips are so soft. 

I forget what I was thinking again. Something about his mouth? It must be that: gotta be. Because it’s all-consuming, the way Damien kisses me, not at all like the precious, courtly, chaste things he gives me during and after outings. He’s hungry, now, biting my lip and nearly clacking our teeth together (actually, that one’s probably my fault) in the hurry to bruise my mouth. 

 

And bruise it does, I’m sure, even as he swallows the soft, embarrassing little sounds I make. As he devours me whole. It’s a lot. Damien is a  _ lot _ . 

 

I nearly forgot about his hand until he moves it, pumping me just enough to draw a sharp breath out of me, and he breaks the kiss to smile. Kisses the tip of my nose, and if I wasn’t blushing before, I sure as hell am now.

 

Wow. Is this really happening? Should I pinch myself to make sure? I do. Ouch. Damien watches, bemused, and then, with a raised eyebrow, says, “I could have done that.”

 

Oh.

 

Shit.

 

Uhm. 

 

He laughs at what must be a hell of an expression I just pulled, and murmurs a, “Half a moment, dear,” before kissing me again...and sliding off of me, then off the bed entirely. I’m expecting him to (finally) get undressed, but he doesn’t do that at all. He rummages around in a drawer, and I hear the soft clink of metal, and…

 

Aaaaand, okay, yes, alright, we’re doing this then! Great! Awesome! It’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike, right? Right????

 

Fuck. He’s pulling it on  _ over _ his clothes. He’s going to fuck me without so much as mussing his beautiful, beautiful hair. 

 

Meanwhile, I’m...already a mess, and it’s only going to get worse, and he pauses at my expression. “This is alright?” He asks. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, no, it’s...yes, just...it’s...been a while?” I manage. Eventually. At least my voice doesn’t crack like a teenager’s, even if it does waver a little. He looks reassured, which is good, much better than distaste or disdain. 

 

“We can take our time,” He says, with all the confidence I do not have in my person, at all. Not that I don’t want this. It’s just.

 

Been a while.

 

Those thoughts aren’t suitable here. I pull myself back to the present, and get to watch as Damien crawls back on the bed, a little tube in his hand, and he pushes my legs apart, as I try not to blush, more, and fail. He pauses again. “We don’t have to…”

 

“No, no, I want to. Really. S-sorry, if I seem…” He watches my face, as I struggle for a word. Awkward? I am. Reluctant? Definitely not. In disbelief that this is even happening? Well, yes, but, I’m not about to let crippling self-doubt keep me from getting laid. I hope. “I’m fine. I want this, really. I just...can’t believe you’re into me?” He laughs.

 

“How could anyone resist you?” He says, as he brushes my hair back from my face, with the softest look I’ve seen from him tonight, and, no, I’m not gonna cry about this. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare.

 

He reaches to palm me again, and, thank god, because that was almost a spiral and now all I can think about is how, fuck, his hands are so sure, soft but strong and deft as he runs his thumb down my slit, and I bite my lip, stifling myself, strangling the moan before it happens. 

 

Prep isn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting it to be. Maybe it is like riding a bike, a little. Haha. Riding. I manage not to moan too loudly again, though Damien coaxes a few noises out of me that I didn’t remember I could even make. 

 

And then he’s pushing in, further, further, and it is  _ glorious _ . And then it kinda hurts, for a moment, and then I can feel the fabric of his pants and, oh my god, I’m full of him. The fact alone makes me gasp, and I twitch a little in his hand, and he smiles, slow and lazy, leans down to kiss along my ear. What he murmurs makes me blush more. I’m so used to cultured, specific, carefully chosen language, and this isn’t less so, but it’s  _ filthy _ , and he punctuates it with a short, sharp, roll of his hips. What’s breathing, again? I suddenly can’t remember. 

 

I am so  _ full _ . I’m never going to stop blushing, ever again. Oh god oh god and then he starts moving and it’s already almost too much, how am I going to hold on?

 

The short answer is, I don’t, at all, and I come hard enough that I can feel hot liquid hit my chest, and I’m the shittiest lay ever, god, is he even a little aroused?

 

But then he just keeps going, moaning a ‘yes’, and doubling down, ohhh fuck oh fuck it’s on the edge of too much but it’s so, so good, and when I moan again he shudders, reaches to unclip, leaving me full as he reaches down to finish himself off, just...taking me in as he does so, and I’ve never felt so hot under my skin, haven’t felt so  _ desired _ in a long time, now.

 

He bends over me when he’s done, still panting, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of my face, that I try to return, and do, when he lets me. He’s still clothed, and the feeling of fabric against my softening cock, my bare hips and chest, is incredible, but-he’s still ruining his clothes, isn’t he? He must know, right? He must not care?

 

“Your clothes…”

 

“Can be laundered,” He assures me, and grins lazily. He pulls out of me, and I groan softly, trying to adjust to feeling empty, now, after having just gotten used to the sensation. 

 

Well. We’ll have plenty of time for another round. Maybe??? Is that asking too much? What if he’s bored now? What if--

 

He just throws his arms around my shoulders, and snuggles up to me, murmuring what can be safely classified as ‘sweet nothings’. It’s nice. It’s really nice. 

 

I can already feel the tiredness in my bones--I’m not as young as I was oh god--and I manage to cuddle back, hooking my leg around his, and murmuring a warning, slurred. He just laughs, and strokes through my hair.

 

Damien is passionate, and he is a lot, but he is mine. And, someday, I will know that is enough. I do already, in a way.

 

I fall asleep thinking that, with his hands in my hair.

 

And no dream could be sweeter.


End file.
